


Character Study (Day 2 of Gwenvid Week 2019)

by Forestwater



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Compliant, F/M, also his biggest pain in the ass, gwen is david's biggest fan, gwenvid week 2019, ish, mostly - Freeform, nosy gwen, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 15:04:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forestwater/pseuds/Forestwater
Summary: David is up to something, and he won't tell Gwen what it is -- just that she doesn't need to worry about it.She isn't worried.But that doesn't mean she's not going to find out.Gwenvid Week Day 2: Hidden Talents/Surprises





	1. Chapter 1

He’d been sneaking out.

Now, Gwen firmly believed in her coworker’s right to privacy. In theory. In _ practice_, she was way too much of a gossip to resist finding out what her open-book CBFL was getting up to that tore him away from the camp every Tuesday evening with the lamest excuses in the world. (“Volunteer dishwashing”? Please. Not even David was _ that _altruistic.)

Which was why she was still awake when he crept in around 1AM, freezing like a deer in the headlights when he saw the lights still on and her sitting up in bed. “H- ello, Gwen!” he managed, sticking the landing after taking a second to catch himself. “Is everything okay?”

She glared at him, thoroughly unimpressed with his attempt to remain nonchalant. “Except that I’ll be mainlining coffee to stay awake tomorrow, things are fine over here. You know, at camp.” She raised her eyebrows. “Where you just _ weren’t. _ And I don’t think any places in Sleepy Peak still need _ volunteer dishwashers _at midnight.”

David winced, taking a seat at his desk like he knew better than to try and go straight to bed. Good boy. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, really! And it’s -- nothing bad, nothing you need to worry about!”

“Still not an explanation.” Abandoning the comfort of her bed, she took a seat at her own desk, shoving aside a pile of papers way too important to just shove aside. (Tomorrow!Gwen was going to be really pissed at right-now!Gwen for that.) “Come on, David, what’s up? I tell you everything,” she said, barking out a laugh at his grimace. “Yeah, I know, you never ask. But if you _ did_, I’d let you know whatever was going on or tell you to go fuck yourself. So I’m gonna need to hear one of those two things, Greenwood, or I’m gonna keep bugging you about this.”

“I’d never tell you . . . that,” he said weakly, looking at his feet, and she realized he hadn’t met her eyes since he’d entered the cabin.

“Yeah, I know. So spill, Greenwood.”

“It’s just not important, that’s all!” He crossed his legs and wrapped his arms around himself protectively.

_ Then it should be easy to say_. It was on the tip of Gwen’s tongue, but she looked at how trapped and miserable he seemed and her better nature won out. “Okay,” she said instead, getting up and rearranging the abused papers into a sleepy semblance of order. “I’ll drop it.”

Especially since the truth was obvious, and the intrigue of it _ delicious_: Her co-counselor absolutely had a secret girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Fuckbuddy. Something.

And if he wasn’t going to tell her, she’d have to do her own detective work to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

“It really isn’t a big deal.”

She glanced up at him, frowning. She hadn’t even had her first cup of coffee yet. “Hey, I’ve dropped it.” She spread her arms out to either side -- about halfway, which was all she had the energy for at the moment. “Don’t you see me dropping it?”

“I know,” David said, picking at his breakfast slop listlessly, “but you were right that you always tell me everything, and even though some of it is more information than perhaps I need --”

She smirked; of the two of them, _ he _was the one who was demonstrably terrible at letting anything go.

“-- I feel terrible about not being open with you.” He leveled her with a stern look, setting aside his fork. “But it really _ is _nothing, Gwen. And I think if you let it become something very . . . big and mysterious in your mind, you’ll just be disappointed when you find out the truth.”

She could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever told her to back off anything, and if he was trying to make her _ less _interested, he couldn’t have picked a worse strategy. “David, it’s been dropped. I’m not letting it become anything. I’ve dropped it.”

He settled back in his seat with a relieved smile, glancing at his plate before pushing it away slightly. “Thank you, CBFL! You sure are the best.”

“It’s really just not that interesting, David.”

Gwen wondered if he was as certain as she was that they were both lying.

* * *

She had to wait a few weeks to do anything, because David knew her well enough to be suspicious and was always watching her out of the corner of his eye as he told her he was heading out. So every Tuesday after dinner, she curled up on her bed with her phone and aggressively paid him no attention as he exchanged his counselor uniform for a button-down, tie, and khakis, barely returning his goodbye as though there was nothing less interesting than wherever he was going.

While he was gone, she mostly just stalked his social media . . . of which there was virtually nothing. A Facebook account that he’d barely touched since 2016, a surprisingly active Instagram full of nature photos and artfully-shot candids of the camp -- she did remember him mentioning picking up a free photography class last year -- a Twitter that doubled as the official Camp Campbell account and therefore only ever posted twice a year (_“Register now for a summer of fun at Camp Campbell! :) Campe diem!” _ and _ “What a wonderful summer! We’ll miss all the friends we made, but we can’t wait to see you next year! :) Campe diem!” _). No new friends, no interesting pictures or updates -- she’d even checked his Pinterest, hoping for even something as vague as a wedding planning board or something, but it was the same recipes and crafts and other stupid grandmotherly bullshit that’d gotten him hooked on it in the first place.

Maybe it really _ was _just that boring.

Or at least, that was what she thought until one evening a month or so later, when David nervously tugged a plastic-wrapped navy blue suit jacket out of his closet, setting it gingerly out on his bed before going through the rest of his things -- a search which went from anxious to frantic to throwing-things-in-all-directions frustrated, before he finally turned to her with a wobbly lower lip and asked if she’d seen a pair of blue dress pants.

“Why would I . . .” she started, but let the rest of the question die as he immediately turned away from her, rummaging through the clothes he’d discarded on the floor a few minutes ago and muttering to himself.

“I swear, if Max or the others took something -- but why would they? That doesn’t make any sense! It’s just . . . _ aha! _There you are!” He snagged something from under his bed and held it up, his triumphant smile falling as he looked at the rumpled pants. “Oh, dear.”

He looked up at her again hopefully. “You wouldn’t h-happen to have an iron, would you?”

Instead of asking him what kind of stupid question that was, Gwen walked over and took them from him, trying to shake out the dusty creases. “I have a lint brush.”

His shoulders slumped. “Oh. Well, I guess that’s better than nothing.”

“Take a shower,” she said, pushing him in the direction of the bathroom. “A warm one. Steam’s supposed to help with this kinda thing.” As he shuffled miserably away, she turned her attention to the destruction of what had once been David’s meticulously-neat, almost spartan side of cabin.

Okay, so today was important. An anniversary? Probably, or else why would he be freaking out so much?

She carefully freed the jacket of its wrapping and smoothed it out across his bed, picking a plaid green tie and a button-down with pale gray stripes to lay across it. He was so nervous; she hoped a little bit of his favorite color would help calm him down. As an afterthought she crossed over to where he’d started to shed his uniform and dug his bandana out of the pile, folding it into a pocket square (with the help of a very slow-loading Google search) and settling it in the jacket’s front pocket.

There. Anyone who tolerated David’s _ David_ness enough to date him would have to be happy. He’d look adorable, and she’d probably built up enough goodwill doing all this to worm a little more information out of him. 

At least a first name. A gender, even.

She was so used to David being an open book, and this secrecy didn’t suit him. Even if his improved fashion sense . . . kinda did.

When he finally slipped out of the bathroom, tousling his hair dry with a towel and wearing the decidedly-less-wrinkled pants, Gwen had managed to turn his side of the room into something resembling tidiness and was hunting around for her lint brush. It wasn’t like she ever needed it . . . 

“Gotcha, motherfucker!” She raised it above her head in triumph before turning and seeing David. “You’re not gonna be late,” she said, gesturing to his clothes. “For your _ no big deal _thing.”

He had to have just emerged from the shower, because it seemed he hadn’t even noticed what she’d done to his side of the cabin. He looked away from her and his eyes widened; he let the towel fall around his neck, covering his mouth. “Oh, _ Gwen!” _

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like it’s like a Ferrari,” she said with a laugh -- though he probably wouldn’t feel this moved over a car. “Come on, get -- okay, hugging.”

Gwen nearly toppled over as David launched himself at her, then let out a resigned sigh once they’d recovered their balance. She was bundled up against his chest, his grip way too tight like it always was -- he was like the Hulk or something sometimes, didn’t know his own strength -- but she’d more or less gotten used to it. 

It made her feel like a cat being accosted by an overexcited toddler, but she was used to it.

“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair, his voice so swelled with emotion it was almost a whisper.

God, he must be really excited about . . . whoever this was. “Yeah, I’m a real peach,” she replied, wriggling free of his embrace, “and you’re way too naked for this hug.” He flushed and wrapped his arms around his chest -- covering his nipples, the absolute _ dork _ \-- taking a few steps back and nearly tripping over a pile of clothes she hadn’t gotten around to picking up yet. “Hot water held out?” His skin was a bright, glowing pink, the kind of healthy sunshine-y color usually assigned to pregnant women and angels in Renaissance art, and he was unbearably warm. (Though to be fair, if the water had been ice cold he probably still would be that warm; it was just a feature of her coworker that he ran at least 50 degrees warmer than the temperature around him.)

David nodded absently. He’d wandered over to the outfit she’d laid out for him, tracing the yellow pocket square almost reverently. “This was so kind of you.”

All right, now he was being weird about it. “Just get dressed before you’re late,” she said, leaving him a nice wide opening through which he could lob a bit of information. Just a skosh. But he didn’t, gracelessly shrugging into the dress shirt. “Hey, come on, you’re gonna wrinkle it!” She hurried over and buttoned it for him, shaking out the creases as well as she could while it was still on him. “Tuck it in,” she ordered, looping his tie around his neck and pulling out her phone to look up how to tie it.

“I can do that!” he exclaimed, batting her away gently and putting himself together. He let her hold out his jacket for him, though, and there was something strangely solicitous, almost chivalric, about helping him put it on. 

(Gwen had always thought she’d make a great “guy” in a date. She had all this door-opening, chair-pulling-out stuff down.)

“Really, Gwen, thank you.” He’d finished transferring his phone, keys, and wallet from his shorts to his new outfit, and was running his thumbnail over the edges of a small pile of index cards, making a shuffling sound. “I appreciate how helpful you’ve been.”

She nodded, distracted by the fact that he was apparently bringing cue cards on a date. Was it over the line to tell him what a terrible idea that was? “Yeah, no problem.”

“When I get back, I’ll tell you what all of this has been about, okay?” He bit his lip and worried it between his teeth, grinning abashedly. “I just don’t want to jinx it.”

“Sure, of course.” She watched him head to the cabin door before remembering something. “Hey, hold on!” she called, snagging the lint brush and tossing it to him.

He caught it one handed and slipped it into his pocket, a movement way too smooth to be intentional. His mind was obviously miles away. “Thanks!”

Gwen waited until she heard the crunch of the campmobile’s tires on the gravel drive before she pulled out her phone and called a ride, rummaging around in her dresser for a hoodie and sunglasses.

It’d been _ David’s _idea to install the Find My Friends app a couple of summers ago, after his close call getting lost in the woods. Not hers.

She was just going to take a look at what all the fuss was about.


	3. Chapter 3

Gwen hadn’t expected the car to stop at Sleepy Peak Community College, but when she glanced back down at the app David’s location stayed put. Maybe his date was a teacher? That’d so be his type . . . (Be a little weird if they were a student, but it wasn’t the _ strangest _age difference in the world, and lord knew Gwen had made plenty of mistakes with older guys when she was in college.)

But she wasn’t going to find anything out sitting in a stranger’s car, getting distracted and racking up a hell of a bill. She ducked out and headed toward the nearest building, the one that it seemed David’s phone was in.

Ugh, she hadn’t been back on this campus since she finished her seventh degree in . . . mineralogy? Was that even here, or did she get that one online? 

Whatever; the one good thing about having basically lived at this place for most of her adult life was that she knew every building front to back . . .

Except this one. The (she groaned) “Cameron C. Campbell Center for Totally Legitimate Business.” Not a single one of her degrees had anything to do with business or finance -- which was probably why she was completely broke -- and so she’d never set foot in the place. In retrospect, that was probably a good idea; there was no way a building with Campbell’s name on it was architecturally stable, even if all he’d done was throw money at it.

As soon as she stepped inside the building, she was struck most by how _ young _ everyone looked. It was almost grotesque. When had college -- the place where _ she _lived, where she belonged -- become a daycare for tiny babies?

“Hey, you lost?” One of the tiny babies had apparently noticed her loitering and wandered up to her. He was about twice her height, dressed in a tan suit and tie but with a backwards snapback perched precariously on a high puff of hair. He seemed harmless enough despite his size, so she held out her phone with her destination a couple hundred feet away, lifting it almost above her head so he wouldn’t have to bend too far down to look. “Huh, looks like 203, hold on. Rico! This look like 203 to you?”

In a moment she was surrounded by a gaggle of very tall young men with identical haircuts and outfits, holding her phone aloft and wishing she hadn’t gotten herself into this. “Yeah, definitely 203,” the first one confirmed, putting his massive hand between her shoulder blades to steer her through the crowd. “Just down that hall, up the stairs, left, left, right, left, and then it’s the big one on the end.”

She found it eventually, after getting hopelessly lost on one of the lefts and being rescued by several well-dressed tan women (who were all either related or had watched the same beautuber or something, because not even the Flower Scouts had that level of uniformity). There were a couple Snapback Bros hanging out outside the room, and the student who’d led her to the classroom squeezed Gwen’s shoulder maternally before heading over to one of them.

The doors had little windows, but they were frosted glass so she couldn’t see what was going on inside. “Is there a class ending in there?” she asked, glancing around; it just occurred to her that David might be waiting outside for someone in there, and she didn’t want to try and explain what she was doing.

A Snapback Bro glanced at an old-fashioned watch before removing his hat and shoving it in the bag at his feet. “Starts in two minutes.”

“You here to watch someone?” one of the other bros asked.

“Uhhh . . . yes?”

“That is _ so sweet_,” one of the tan women said, giving Gwen a dental-commercial-white smile. The bro nearest the door held it open for her, and she ducked inside the giant room, immediately shoving her way to the back on 90% muscle memory and 10% paranoia. There had to be almost a hundred students in the room, milling around in loud groups and generally not noticing her at all, but the stadium seating meant that even at the back of the room, she was much higher than the seats at the front.

She glanced down at her phone, wondering if David had taken off while she was lost in the sea of business students. The icon indicating her location was almost entirely on top of his. She looked around and saw his bright pink phone sitting innocently on top of a pile of index cards and a binder at the very front of the class, a navy jacket hung over the back of the empty chair. 

Three things happened more or less simultaneously:

Gwen yanked the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and slouched down as low as she could without looking like a serial killer, trying to decide how suspicious it’d look if she put her sunglasses on in the bright, crowded lecture hall.

David burst into the room, dashing over to his seat and collapsing in it, drawing his index cards to his chest like they were hundred-dollar bills.

The professor at the front of the room flicked on the projector, illuminating the pull-down screen with blue-white LED light and causing the entire class to fall silent.

“Glad to see a full house,” she said, looking around approvingly; even though Gwen was about a mile and a half away in the very last row, she shrank down in her seat even further, aware that in her ratty hoodie and shorts she stuck out painfully among all of the students in their business not-so-casual. “Good to know I can get you to show up if half your grade depends on it.”

There was a ripple of halfhearted laughter and the instructor dimmed the lights, calling up a group of students to begin their presentation.

* * *

By the end of the class, Gwen had learned several important new things:

One was that she didn’t miss college even one bit.

Two, business was exactly as boring as she’d always thought it was. Screw what her mom had always wanted, she’d been right to avoid it like the plague.

Three, someone had doodled a beautiful flower on the corner of her desk, so intricate that it took her two and a half presentations to realize it was actually a series of interlocking penises.

And finally, David was not sneaking out of the camp each Tuesday for some clandestine romance. Apparently he was . . . going to school.

And for some reason, he hadn’t wanted her to know.


	4. Chapter 4

“Good job.”

David jumped; night had fallen by the time his class ended, and he hadn’t seen her leaning against the campmobile. She’d managed to beat him to the car, even without knowing where he’d parked, because of course her friendly CBFL had to stay after class chatting with every person who’d stand still long enough. “Gwen?!”

“You did really well,” she continued, studying her phone with exaggerated nonchalance. “It was actually not totally boring -- which means it was way better than the others -- and you looked great, so, y’know, you’re welcome.” She wasn’t monologuing as much as babbling; it had just occurred to her how very much she’d disregarded his express wishes, maybe even violated his privacy, and she was hoping if she kept talking it wouldn’t hit him until much later. 

Like, ideally years from now.

Judging by his tense posture and the way he threw the driver’s-side door open, she hadn’t been terribly successful. She scrambled into the passenger’s seat -- not that she really expected him to drive off and leave her there, but David was hard to predict when angry. For one thing, it happened so rarely, and for another . . . well, he was an intense guy. Not scary, certainly, but it was hard to tell when he’d storm off and when he’d start crying and when he’d get so angry he’d forget personal space existed and get up way too close in someone’s face.

(Or when he’d start swinging chairs around; she would hate herself forever for missing that particular scene, but while she knew he’d never in a million years hurt her, it was . . . something to be aware of. Poor Jake, or whatever his name was.)

“I specifically asked you not to pry,” he finally said, starting the car. His voice was wobbly, and Gwen resisted the urge to berate him for being a terrible driver -- literally just look where you’re going every _ once in a while_, David! -- because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it if he burst into tears on her.

She groaned, putting her feet up on the dashboard even though she knew it drove him crazy. (For someone who played it pretty fast-and-loose with most rules of the road, he was meticulous about other people’s obeying them.) “You weren’t giving me anything, David! What was I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to trust me!” he cried, braking suddenly as another car swerved in front of them; Gwen’s head snapped forward, smashing into her knees.

“Ow, ow, ow, _ fuck_.” She covered her mouth with one hand, checking with her tongue to make sure she hadn’t knocked any of her teeth loose. “Okay, fine, I guess I deserved that.”

“I’m very sorry you were hurt,” he said after a moment, using the too-prim voice he tended to fall into when he was trying not to be smug, “but I hope it teaches you a valuable lesson about unsafe car posture.” She rolled her eyes, lowering her feet and clicking on her seatbelt.

“Maybe teaching me a lesson about karma, too?” she muttered, smirking at him.

He glanced over at her, his lips twitching. “I don’t know about that.”

“_Sure _ you don’t.” The car fell silent, but the tension had broken, Gwen settling back and watching the streetlights play across the dash. “You know, you could’ve just told me you were going back to school,” she said finally, looking over at him. “It’s not that big a deal.”

He turned to look at her (and she resisted the urge to either grab the wheel or demand he keep his stupid eyes on the road), his almost-smile giving way to the real thing. “I told you it wasn’t.”

“I mean, okay, it _ kinda _is,” she countered as they left Sleepy Peak behind. “Seriously, college boy, this is exciting! I don’t know why you wouldn’t wanna tell me.”

He sighed, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He was quiet just long enough for her to think he wouldn’t answer. “I’m not really _ going _to school. It’s just one class. I just . . .” Another sigh, and a beat of quiet where the only noise was the quiet ticking of the turn signal as they approached the camp. “I wanted to be able to help you out, Gwen. You do so much of the business side of running things, and since I’m technically . . . I don’t know. It’s a lot to put on your shoulders, and I’m s- . . . I felt bad.”

Wow, that was the closest Gwen had ever gotten to an actual apology from David “I never do anything wrong” Greenwood. “This revelation have anything to do with me almost killing you?”

“Your dad visiting was a bit of a wake-up call,” he agreed with a soft laugh. “I’ve never seen your eyes look like that.”

She cocked a finger-gun at him, clucking with her tongue. “And you better hope you never see it again.” He chuckled, shaking his head, and with a skidding of gravel they pulled to a (sudden) stop outside the counselors’ cabin.

“Did you really leave the camp alone just to spy on me?” he asked with a frown, holding the door to the cabin open for her.

“We literally have two other adults here, David.” He gave her a thoroughly unimpressed look and she sighed. “They’re not _ that _bad. Campbell did just fine last time he was here alone, and QM is . . .” She trailed off, trying to think of a positive end to that sentence. “He hasn’t killed any of the campers yet?”

“You know I have just as much faith in Mr. Campbell and the Quartermaster as I do in us --” Oh, a bold-faced lie, but he looked like he actually believed it. “-- but I’m still very disappointed in your behavior this evening.”

She squirmed a little bit at that; even when she was going completely off the rails trying to live out her high-drama fantasies, she was used to David’s more-or-less unwavering admiration. “I know. I’m sorry, that was . . . kind of shitty.”

He shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it carefully back up and swaddling it in its plastic wrap -- giving her just long enough to wonder if he was really going to leave her hanging here. Had David ever not accepted an apology in his life?

Turning back to her, he gave her a brilliant smile and crossed the room in a few steps, sweeping her up into another hug. “Of course I forgive you, Gwen!”

“Oh, great. More hugging.” Gwen didn’t mean it, not really; part of her didn’t really think she deserved to be cut any slack, and the fact that David was just that sweet was . . . well, it was nice. She always knew where she stood with him.

He let go after a minute or two -- which was pretty good, by his standards -- and stepped back, quickly tying his bandana back around his neck even though he was still otherwise dressed for the presentation. “And I _ am _pretty glad you were able to see me up there tonight! It’s been a lot of hard work.”

“Yeah, speaking of.” She glanced up at the clock. “It’s only like nine. How come you keep coming home after midnight? Class doesn’t go that long.”

“I know.” He took a seat on his bed, removing his belt and shoes before leaning back on his hands. “But there’s a lot more homework than I’d expected, and I didn’t really want you to . . . so I would usually work on it -- well, lots of places.” He shrugged. “At school until the buildings closed, then The Only Bar, and if I wasn’t done when that closed there was always, um, Muffin Tops.”

Gwen tried to picture David sitting at a dim, glittery table, sipping at a Shirley Temple as he tried to angle his book towards the best light. “You must be able to concentrate like nobody’s business.”

He blushed, fiddling with a loose thread in his shirt cuff. “Sometimes Bon would let me study in one of the back rooms, if no one was . . . using it.”

She flopped down onto the couch they’d liberated from the Mess Hall, stretching out for what felt like the first time in months. “It would’ve been way easier to just tell me, you know,” she pointed out.

There was a squeak of ancient bedsprings and the rustle of clothing, and she knew he was taking advantage of her inability to see him to change out of his dress clothes. “I know,” he agreed with a heavy sigh, “but I just . . . couldn’t.” 

She sat up and turned around, forgetting that he was in the middle of getting dressed and wincing at his scream of horror. “It’s fine, Christ,” she muttered, covering her eyes, “I didn’t see anything. More importantly, what the hell? Why couldn’t you tell me? We tell each other everything,” she added, knowing that would hit him where it hurt.

“I _ know!_” He tapped her on the arm as he passed, letting her know she was safe to look, and collapsed into one of the armchairs. “But I was embarrassed.”

“Of what? Going to college?” She snorted, crossing her arms behind her head. “That doesn't get embarrassing until you have four times as many degrees as job offers.”

“That’s not true, Gwen!” he argued, scrambling into a position where he could better meet her gaze. “You’re very smart, and -- and _ studious_, and just so . . .” He groaned. “So _ good _at things like that. And I’m not.” He slumped back, frowning at the bear paws on his pajama pants. “I didn’t want you asking me how I was doing. Or to see how long it takes me just to read a chapter, or . . .” He trailed off with a shrug, looking for all the world like a sullen teenager. “I didn’t want you to think I’m stupid.”

For some idiotic reason -- something to do with the faded pain in her mouth and knee, perhaps, or just the desolate resigned way he’d called himself stupid, or how he was blinking rapidly and couldn’t quite look in her general direction -- Gwen’s chest closed up, tears pricking at her eyes. “Hey, David?” she asked, her voice a little rough; she cleared her throat but resisted the urge to look away.

He met her gaze after a moment, with a very clear effort. His eyes were shiny, and after a moment he had to press his lips together to keep them from quivering.

Fuck this, they were not _ both _ going to start crying. “You wanna know what’s really stupid? Not knowing the difference between Virginia creeper and poison ivy and giving the entire camp a rash because you thought you could do Hiking Camp without your sick cocounselor.” David giggled, a sharp and almost hysterical sound, and he immediately covered his mouth with his hands, flushing. “You know what would’ve happened if _ I’d _gotten lost in the forest?” she continued, because seeing him smile was suddenly, terribly important to her. “I’d still be in the forest. Right now. Probably being eaten by raccoons or something.”

“That’s terrible!” he said, unable to keep from laughing. “Don’t say things like that!”

She shrugged. “Why not? It’s true. No way was I walking all the way back to camp. And bees? Fucking _ forget _ about the bees. My face would still be just --” She waved her hand in a quick circle around her face. “-- all bee stings. If I tried to put some sort of plant on it to make it better . . . well, it’d probably be poison ivy and then I’d be _ really _fucked, huh?”

David buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. “That’s not true!” he insisted. “You’re very good at Survival Camp!”

“Not as good as you.” His grin softened into something shy and proud, because he couldn’t sincerely argue with that. “Go easier on yourself, David. You’re smarter than you think you are.” His eyes were shining again, so she sat back and continued, “Though you know, I am pretty good at the whole school thing. So if you ever need a paper proofread or something, I’m not doing anything important, basically ever.”

“There won’t be any papers in this class, actually! But there are supposed to be two more presentations, so if you wouldn’t mind . . .”

“Sure.” She watched David settle back with a sigh of relief, looking more relaxed than he had for . . . a while now, she realized in retrospect. It was probably just the stress of the presentation freaking him out.

Or maybe he hated keeping things from her more than he’d let on.

* * *

“Not bad.” She sat back, handing him his notes so he could look them over again. “You’re really nailing this, David.”

He flipped through them, a pleased flush spreading up to the tips of his ears. “I guess I do feel like I’m getting the hang of it! You’re a very good tutor.”

Gwen stretched, feeling every joint in her back pop. “It’s my amazing camp-counseling abilities,” she intoned. “They’ve served me very well over the years.”

“You could be a teacher,” he said, smiling. “Why haven’t you ever tried?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “People asked me that _ all the time _in college,” she replied, shaking her head in disgust. “But seriously, me in front of a whole room of children? That’s basically my hell on earth.”

They fell silent for a moment, awkwardness settling over their shoulders like a heavy cape.

“Anyway,” she quickly added, shoving away the self-pity it was so tempting to wallow in, “what about you? This doesn’t have to just be the one class, you know.”

“What do you mean?” he asked warily, keeping his gaze fixed on his papers as he organized them and put them back in their binder.

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Don’t be coy, Greenwood, it doesn’t look cute on you,” she lied. She shoved his shoulder, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Why not go for a full degree? You’re technically the . . . like, CEO of Camp Campbell, aren’t you?”

David’s eyes widened. “No, definitely not! I mean, I guess I’m the _ owner _, but that doesn’t mean . . .”

“Please, like Campbell never went around calling himself the CEO or President? No way he didn’t give himself like a hundred different stupid titles. So they’ve gotta be _ your _stupid titles now, right?” He was sitting frozen, looking more than a little petrified, so she gently tapped his cheek with two fingers. “You in there, David?”

He jolted, waving her away. “Y-yes! Fine, I’m . . . fine, yes.”

She absolutely didn’t have the energy to poke whatever hornet’s nest lay in this topic of conversation, so she changed the subject: “Seriously, though, I can find the money, if it’s for the camp. We can call it ‘professional development.’ I might even be able to get some government grant or something if I spin it right -- there’s this form, hold on . . .”

David watched her fumble through the mass of papers on her desk for a minute. “If anyone should do that, it’s you,” he said, then straightened with a jerk like he’d been prodded. “Oh, or we could _ both _go! We could be study buddies!”

“Great, then we’ll both think about it.” Truthfully, watching David struggle through this class had just reminded her how much she never wanted to go to school ever again -- and there was no way they had _ two _degrees’ worth of money in their tiny budget -- but if it kept the ball in the air, she’d humor him, because she had no intention of letting this go.

Not when it turned out he was actually way better at standing up in front of a room full of suits and charming them into doing what he wanted than she’d ever been, or could coax a nicer presentation out of their pathetically old computer way more quickly than she could. When she’d watched with disbelief as he managed to wrangle his ADHD -- no diagnosis as far as she could tell, but her psych senses were tingling -- in order to sit down and study for hours at a time, after an exhausting day of camp activities. And she had to admit, it was incredibly entertaining watching David of the Youth-Pastor Vibes ruthlessly tear down the business decisions of corporations worth more than Camp Campbell could ever dream of, with the same bright-eyed competitive streak that led him to wager the camp against the Wood Scouts. And even if his constant sharing of nature facts was now being supplemented with a steady stream of economic anecdotes (did she know why Euro Disney had been such a failure when it launched? After fifteen minutes of not-falling-asleep last night _ she _sure did!), it was fascinating and bizarre to see him enjoying something so much, and she suspected he’d be a lot more disappointed when the class ended than he would ever let on.

More importantly, she knew he wasn’t too stupid to pull it off.

And she was starting to hope that maybe he was on his way to knowing it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Bad title. Bad, bad title.


End file.
